A Fatal Waltz by TASHA ALEXANDER Page B

could not be more wrong, Mr. Harrison.”
    The remainder of the luncheon break did not improve. Our host snapped at everyone, guests and servants alike, and eventually we were all left sitting in uncomfortable silence. The food itself was spectacular—no beer and sandwiches here. A man of Lord Fortescue’s girth required regular and substantial meals, and wewere treated to service that rivaled that inside the house. I did not, however, feel entirely right eating pheasant stuffed with truffles after seeing how many of the birds’ brethren had rained out of the sky that morning. And there was more shooting to come. Once we had finished eating, the ladies dutifully watched the gentlemen return to their sport, Ivy standing with me at Colin’s side.
    “Shall I prove my devotion to you by staying for a second drive?” I asked as he reloaded his gun.
    “I’d much prefer it if you’d allow me to prove my devotion by insisting that you return to the house.”
    “You’re very kind,” Ivy said.
    “Nonsense. I can see that Emily’s already duly impressed with my shooting skills,” he said. “So there’s no point keeping the two of you here any longer. It looks like it’s going to rain, and at any rate, we’ll only be out for another hour or so. The prime minister will be arriving soon.”
    “I should have liked to see Robert shoot,” Ivy said.
    “Tomorrow.” Colin gave her a reassuring smile. “Now get back inside before you both catch cold.”
     
    I VY EXCUSED HERSELF as soon as we entered the house and went off in search of her husband while I skulked about continuing to catalog art. Beaumont Towers was full of spectacular paintings—many from the late Renaissance, but also a handful of glorious Turners—yet almost nothing in the way of antiquities. As a result, I gasped with delight when I found a small statue, not even half a foot in height, tucked away in a cabinet in the drawing room. It was fashioned in bronze, a charming depiction of a young man reclining at a banquet. The smoothness of the finish astonished me, as did the piece’s elegant lines. I began to sketch it, slowing my hand, careful not to sacrifice accuracy for speed. I had nearly finished when I startled at the sound of the door opening.
    “There you are.” The countess glided over and stood in front of me. “I’ve been so looking forward to a private chat with you.”
    “I’m all astonishment,” I said, not looking up from my paper.
    “I never thought I’d see the day that Colin would be married. Of course, that day hasn’t yet come, but—” She smiled, looking down at me. “I suppose we’re to believe it will. You’re very lucky. He is wonderful beyond measure.” She spoke with too much relish, her diction exaggerated, and I gathered her meaning at once.
    “I would expect nothing else,” I said. “Should I offer you my pity, as the loss is entirely yours?”
    “I never lose, Lady Ashton. Never. Don’t presume that I am going to step aside for you.”
    “From what I understand, there’s no need for you to do any such thing. Colin already has.”
    “Is that what he told you?” She laughed. I was trying to conjure up the right sort of mildly biting but not wholly inappropriate reply when the door opened again.
    “Why are you ladies hiding in here?” Colin came towards us, a cautious amusement in his eyes.
    “Your fiancée is all charm,” the countess said, her gaze lingering on him the way mine was wont to in unguarded moments. Did he compare the way we looked at him?
    “Has Lord Salisbury arrived?” I asked, searching for any distraction from my sophisticated nemesis.
    “He’s had to cancel his visit because of a threat of violence. A telegram arrived half an hour ago.”
    “You don’t mean—” Kristiana stopped, then muttered something in German. She spoke too quietly for me to make out the words, but whatever she said caused Colin to look at her askance.
    “Don’t even think it,” he said.
    “It’s